


(It's Not Gay If It's) FOR THE EMPIRE

by AkiRah



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Blowjobs, Light Side Sith Warrior, M/M, Masturbation, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Quinn Sucks A Dick, Quinn is also excellent at board games, Quinn-centric, Sith Warrior Ashlan, light side Jaesa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-25 21:50:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12541952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkiRah/pseuds/AkiRah
Summary: Quinn reflects on his attraction to his liege, Darth Ashlan, and works to re-establish trust between them. Hijinks and eventual blowjob ensue.





	(It's Not Gay If It's) FOR THE EMPIRE

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inkspot_fox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkspot_fox/gifts).



> Darth Ashlan belongs to [Etienne_Bessette](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Etienne_Bessette/pseuds/Etienne_Bessette%20) who also helped me edit.

Quinn has never made any pretense of pretending to know how the Force works. He is not sensitive to it and is the sort of man who prefers to leave philosophy to the philosophers. However, one does not grow up on Dromund Kaas and end up in the direct service of a Sith Lord without picking up a thing or two. 

If the Force has both a light side and a dark side, Darth Ashlan is clad in sunlight.

 

At first, Quinn found this a mere curiosity; he’d had some vague recollection of the sith eschewing the light side of the force, but certainly Lord Ashlan knew himself better than Quinn did, and as long as it hadn’t jeopardized their goals, Quinn had been content to not know. It hadn’t been his _place_ to know. 

Later, as Darth Baras’s schemes had worn on, the matter of Lord Ashlan’s alignment had become a concern, though one that Quinn had kept to himself. He’d told himself it was because he didn’t want to present Darth Baras with faulty information. Looking back, he supposes he’d been trying to protect Lord Ashlan as best he could. 

Honestly, Quinn isn’t sure if it would have been better or worse for Lord Ashlan to have adhered more stringently to Sith expectations. Worse for _him_ , certainly, as the stereotypical Sith Lord would have killed him immediately upon his betrayal. Lord Ashlan had not. Though his reticence to kill the Empire’s enemies—if there’s an opportunity to talk them down instead—still causes Quinn some minor irritation. On the whole though, as he waits for Darth Ashlan and Jaesa Wilsaam to return from toppling Malgus the Betrayer, Quinn decides he actively doesn’t care.

There is no greater champion for the Empire than the Lord Wrath. 

Moreover, after Pierce had spoken up about his suspicions, Darth Ashlan had ensured that the Lieutenant was reassigned _elsewhere_. 

It is a fact that terrifies Quinn even as he’s grateful for Pierce’s absence. It brings to light the very real possibility that His Lordship might tire of _Quinn_ and assign him elsewhere as well. Somewhere lucrative, certainly, where he could realize his potential and move on his ambitions within the military. 

But Quinn is coming to terms with the fact that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than a step behind and to the side of Darth Ashlan. 

The Empire rode to glory on his coat-tails, and it was a privilege to hang on. 

Still, Quinn is left with the difficult decision of whether or not to _tell_ Darth Ashlan that he knows. If he phrases his intentions poorly, he risks being seen as a threat and either dispatched or abandoned. If he doesn’t phrase them at all, however, he lessens the likelihood even _further_ that Darth Ashlan will ever truly come to trust him again. 

A conundrum, certainly, and one that a lifetime of military service has left him poorly equipped to deal with. The _obvious_ step would be to gather information first and come at the problem from the flank. He could easily corner Vette and interrogate her into telling him how best to let Darth Ashlan know that Quinn is _his man_ for life. 

But he doesn’t particularly want to talk to Vette, and he doesn’t trust that she wouldn’t feed him bad information just to see him flounder, thereby further securing Darth Ashlan’s affections for herself. 

In the back of his thoughts he can hear Darth Ashlan’s voice, berating him for treating interpersonal affairs like combat sorties. He can imagine the smirk painted on Darth Ashlan’s mouth as he rolls his vibrant green eyes and then flops over onto the sofa. _Lighten up, Quinn._

_Yes, my lord._

“Hey, Admiral Malcontent,” Vette calls, snapping her fingers to get his attention and leaning through the doorway so she’s half-in the cockpit. “Just got a call from Ashlan. He and Jaesa are headed back to Illum and want us to meet them there.” 

Quinn punches in the coordinates. “You should be more formal with him,” Quinn says tersely, knowing without looking that Vette hasn’t left the doorway. “He’s our superior.”

“And if I start saluting or “my lording” him, he’d wonder where you got the lekku prosthetics,” Vette snorts. “You know how he is. He’s casual. It’s cool.” 

Quinn frowns at that, but can’t argue. After all, Vette knows His Lordship better than Quinn does. A fact that continues to wear on his nerves like rust on corrugated plastisteel. He waits for the sound of Vette’s boots to depart before he tilts his head back against his chair and considers. 

Should _he_ be more casual? 

It’s not in his nature. Quinn’s not sure he knows _how,_ and it would be a dark day indeed when he changed his behavior so sharply for someone else. 

But if Darth Ashlan _preferred_ a relaxed environment… then perhaps Quinn’s rigidity is impeding their efficiency. He frowns. _Another_ conundrum. 

He docks with Illum’s Orbital station and changes into his thermal uniform, waiting by the airlock for Vette to join him. She has coverings on her lekku—custom-made wampa fur sleeves that Ashlan had commissioned on their first visit to Hoth. A sign of affection.

They depart _the Fury_ together, Quinn in silence and Vette humming more to herself than anything. 

“Seems strange that he wants us both on the surface,” Quinn reflects. “You are certain it’s not some manner of trap?”

Vette rolls her eyes. He hates that he doesn’t have to look at her to know it. That after _four years_ her expressions are burned into his minds-eye. At least that _particular_ irritation is mutual. Her imitations of him are spot on and infuriating, but they mean he has left an impression. He _likes_ leaving impressions. 

“Yes, Admiral Paranoid,” she huffs. “I was talking _to Ashlan_. I know when something’s wrong.” 

Quinn thinks, but does not say, that the last time something was truly wrong, the entire crew was kept out of the loop. But the situations are different. _Very_ different, fortunately. 

Vette sits beside him on the shuttle, familiarity ruling over general dislike. She crosses one leg over the other and bounces her foot on her knee, slouching against the wall. Quinn sits rail straight in contrast. He _could_ relax, but with Vette slumped over, he feels the need to maintain extra decorum. As though he could somehow make up for her. 

Illum is still cold. Vette shivers as the first breeze hits her and Quinn does the same. “Did His Lordship say where to meet him?” 

“The bunker.” Vette points. “Sooner the better.” 

“Indeed.” Quinn nods. He doesn’t like frozen worlds any more than she does. They make their way to the bunker, sticking close together so no one mistakes Vette for a slave or intruder. Vette turns fairly abruptly and Quinn has to compensate. 

They find Darth Ashlan in the Cantina, sitting at a table with Jaesa and still wearing his “I am a terrifying Sith Lord” facade. 

And he _is_ a terrifying Sith Lord. 

But Quinn has known him long enough to know that his expressive mouth was made for grinning and those bright green eyes sparkle when he’s amused. 

Both Darth Ashlan and Jaesa are bruised. His Lordship’s armor is singed and torn, his lip is swollen and puffy. His scarlet ponytail has been knocked half-loose, leaving blood red wisps hanging free. Jaesa has a black eye, the bruising the same color as the hand print around Darth Ashlan’s throat. 

“My Lord,” Quinn says, straightening to a salute. “You summoned.” 

“Captain.” Darth Ashlan gives him a nod. “Vette.” 

Vette smiles, the corners of her purple eyes crinkling with affection. “Are you alright, my lord?” The _my lord_ feels tacked on for the sake of anyone watching. 

“I’m fine, Vette,” Darth Ashlan says, warmth creeping into his tone in spite of their open surroundings. “Injured, but alive. And Darth Malgus is no more.” His expression darkens for a moment. “The Grand Moff has some ceremony or whatnot planned. As you were both crucial to my success, I summoned you to be a part of it.” He scoots over and indicates that Vette should sit beside him. 

“I think you missed me,” Vette teases in a low voice. 

Quinn sees the small sliver of a smile on Darth Ashlan’s mouth, more of an answer than anything he could say while in public. 

“Captain.” Darth Ashlan turns to Quinn and Quinn ~~stiffens~~ straightens. 

“My Lord.” 

“Would you sit?” He gestures to the seat beside Jaesa. “We have time. Drinks are on the way.” 

“I . . . my lord, I’m not entirely sure that’s wise or appropriate.” 

“Quinn,” Darth Ashlan lowers his voice, “I’m sore, I’m tired, and I’m drinking. _Sit_.” 

“Yes, my lord.” He sits somewhat awkwardly beside Jaesa, and when a drink is set in front of him, he eyes it with interest and suspicion. 

Vette strikes up conversations with both Darth Ashlan and Jaesa, and Quinn listens. His lordship regales them with the final fight between him and Malgus, and expresses his gratitude that _The Fury_ was out of range when Malgus triggered the self-destruct sequence. 

Quinn wonders when the last time was that he had drinks with . . . anyone really. Boot camp, probably. Maybe around Druckenwell. On Balmorra he drank by himself when he drank at all. He isn’t sure how to include himself in the conversation, but that’s alright. It is… nice… that he’s included at all.

A sign of trust, perhaps?

Or, more likely, Darth Ashlan simply doesn’t want to explain to Vette or Jaesa why Quinn has been excluded.

Assuming that either woman would have asked, and Quinn somehow doubts it. 

Moreover, he _wants_ to think that it’s because he’s earned back some measure of Darth Ashlan’s trust and maybe even fondness. He sips his drink, and when Darth Ashlan spares him a smile, Quinn smiles back without thinking. Darth Ashlan’s gentle green eyes widen and he chuckles. 

“What?” Vette asks. “What’s funny?” 

“Nothing,” His Lordship replies, but his smile is a little wider and a little warmer now. “Tell me more about Nok Drayen’s fabulous starship.” 

* * *

The Grand Moff’s ceremony is short, but should be enough to move Quinn into place in the Grand Moff’s thoughts. He can’t help but wonder if that was Ashlan’s plan. To maneuver Quinn into a position where his ambitions could be fulfilled. To get rid of him kindly and gently. They return to their quarters and Quinn indicates the medbay silently to both Jaesa and Darth Ashlan. 

Darth Ashlan sighs, his facade dropping. “You’re not _wrong_ ,” he complains. “But I’m tired.” 

“I will be as quick as possible, my lord,” Quinn promises. “Miss Willsaam, you as well.” 

Jaesa nods. “Of course, Captain. When you’re done with him.” 

_Jaesa_ at least maintains an air of knowing how the hierarchy is supposed to work. Unlike _Vette_. She bounds over as the airlock closes behind her and _the Fury_ detaches from the umbilical. “Real quick,” she says, interrupting Darth Ashlan’s slow trudge towards the infirmary. She throws her arms around his neck and Quinn watches, with an annoyed twinge in his chest, as His Lordship curls both powerful arms around her. “I’m glad you’re okay,” Vette says. “I was worried.” 

“Now, Vette,” Darth Ashlan says her name fondly, “I’m not cruel enough to leave you and Quinn alone together.” 

“And I appreciate it, my lord,” Quinn comments dryly, remembering the smile in the cantina. 

Vette sputters and laughs before sticking her tongue out at him. 

Quinn considers returning the gesture, but refrains. 

“I sometimes forget you have a sense of humor, Captain,” Ashlan grins. “Amazing.” He squeezes Vette once more and walks (rather than trudges) to the infirmary, Quinn on his heels. 

Darth Ashlan hops onto the bed and begins divesting himself of his armor. He pauses, holding onto his soot-stained undershirt. “Quinn?” 

“My lord?” 

“Close the door.” 

Quinn does. 

Darth Ashlan exhales and pulls the shirt off, revealing branching scars from where Malgus the Betrayer had channeled force-lighting directly into his abdomen. They marry with his many bruises, abrasions and lacerations to paint his torso in purple and red. “I didn’t want Vette to see,” Ashlan explains. “Jaesa’s pretty fucked up too, just . . . a little less.” 

“I will tend to her immediately,” Quinn says, the words coming out gentle. Darth Ashlan rewards him with a smile, expressive lips tucked up higher on one side, brow raised and opening his expression further. 

“Thanks, Quinn.” 

Quinn focuses on his work, applying kolto and gauze to Darth Ashlan’s bare brown torso. He makes a mental note that the long, thin tattoo lines that run the length of His Lordship’s well-muscled back will need to be touched up. Finding anyone within the Empire skilled at Republic style Zabrak tattoos may prove to be troublesome. Moreover, the markings have cultural significance that Quinn has never cared to learn about. 

Research will be required. 

“The scars will heal, my lord,” he says. “Though you will likely be sore for a few days.” 

Darth Ashlan nods and hops off the table. He stretches and Quinn watches, inspecting for places where the gauze might be loose, following the tattoo lines, just in case he missed something. 

His Lordship sends Jaesa in and she strips off to her underthings to allow Quinn to work. He applies gauze and kolto in silence, and gives her something for the pain. 

He almost tells her that he knows. That she should tell His Lordship that he knows. 

Perhaps coming at Darth Ashlan through Jaesa, who can see people’s inner-most motivations, would be the right way to do this. 

She thanks him as she leaves. Quinn tidies up the Infirmary. 

He checks that they are on a clear, slow heading back to Dromund Kaas and returns to his quarters to sleep. 

> Darth Ashlan’s teeth are sharp. They rake over Quinn’s shoulder and leave behind thin, red welts. “Sorry,” he mutters. 
> 
> “Don’t apologize, my lord,” Quinn replies, smoothing his palms up his lord’s sculpted lower back. He sinks slowly to his knees and feels one of Darth Ashlan’s hands curl to a fist in his hair. The pain is minute and sweet.
> 
> “Don’t tell me what to do,” Darth Ashlan growls. Quinn looks up and his Lord’s eyes are sparking and almost neon. The tip of the sith’s cock presses insistently against Quinn’s lips, coaxing them open.

Quinn startles awake, one hand already curled around his cock. He frowns, but doesn’t let go of himself. Slowly, he begins to stroke, trying not to read too much into the strange dream he’s had. It’s best not to read too much into dreams. 

His pace quickens. He tries to think about nothing, to let this simply be glandular stimulation, but he jumps back to the delicate, well-muscled curve of Darth Ashlan’s bare, long back as he stretches. The tip of his pink tongue as it peeks from between his lips, scouting for a missed drop of caf. 

He tries to think of nothing and instead he recalls the sharp lines of Darth Ashlan’s hips and the way he jolts when Quinn touches them to apply a medical stim. He imagines that jolt accompanied by a breathless gasp. He imagines Darth Ashlan vulnerable and trusting and thrusting into his mouth. 

Quinn bites down on the inside of his cheek to stifle the shout as he cums. He reaches for the tissue he keeps on his nightstand and cleans himself thoroughly before running one hand through his tousled black hair. 

_Shit._ He thinks, catching sight of his reflection in the viewport. He clears his throat. It changes nothing and he’s never been one to read into dreams. Nothing has changed. 

He lays back in his bed, the blankets off and his hands folded on his stomach. He could be lusting after worse, he supposed. Jaesa or Vette would be worse. 

More _convenient_ , and at least he was generally used to being attracted to women, but worse. If only because Vette was insufferable and Jaesa was . . . 

He isn’t sure _what_ Jaesa is besides very young and strangely empty. 

He takes some small comfort in knowing that at least he isn’t alone in this attraction (assuming of course that it was genuine and not some cruel and bizarre attempt of his subconscious to tell him to bail); _Vette_ is similarly afflicted. And she’s never been particularly _subtle_ about it. 

And Darth Ashlan hasn’t noticed _that_. 

He probably won’t notice. 

This is . . . not fine, but Quinn can work with--or more appropriately _around_ \--this. That’s very much _like_ it being fine. 

* * *

Quinn is always the first awake. This morning, however, he was up a _lot_ earlier than everyone else. He made caf for the crew, as was his habit, and settled in the cockpit. He checked their heading. He cleaned his blaster. He heard the first sound of someone stirring. He checked their heading again. He heard footsteps, heavy boots and a long gait, and stood to salute as Darth Ashlan entered the cockpit with a cup of caf and without a shirt. 

Quinn’s eyes drop to admire the sharp dip of Darth Ashlan’s collarbones and then slip down over his scarred torso. He tries to tell himself he’s just surveying how His Lordship is healing. 

It is a lie and he _knows_ it. 

“You alright, Quinn?” Darth Ashlan asks over the rim of his cup. He tilts his head to the side. 

“I’m not sure what you mean, my lord,” Quinn replies evenly. “I’m fit as ever.” 

“You _usually_ make eye contact.” It doesn’t feel like a rebuke, more like a gentle observation.

Quinn’s eyes jump immediately back to Darth Ashlan’s. “Apologies, my lord.” 

“Don’t apologize.” 

_Don’t tell me what to do_ , Quinn thinks and his eyes widen. He clears his throat when Darth Ashlan’s expression puzzles and he lowers his cup. 

“You’re being _weird_ , Quinn.” 

“I slept poorly, my lord,” Quinn attempts to bypass an explanation with an excuse. 

“Anything in particularly keeping you up?” Darth Ashlan takes another drink of his caf and Quinn tries to figure out if this was concern or a proper interrogation. 

Probably concern. Interrogations _traditionally_ involved less of one party sipping their morning caf. But very rarely could Darth Ashlan be considered _traditional_. 

“I have a few things on my mind, actually, my lord,” Quinn says fighting to keep his tone clear and calm. “But would rather discuss them in private.” 

“Sure. Tonight?” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“Alright, we’ll talk then.” 

Quinn salutes and Darth Ashlan raises his caf-cup in vague acknowledgement. Quinn allows his eyes to drop to the T of his lord’s shoulders as Darth Ashlan turns to leave. He follows the tattooed lines and the defined muscle groups down to powerful hips. Darth Ashlan is slender as a sapling but the power is there, hidden beneath his soft brown skin and casual demeanor. 

“Oh, Quinn, before I forget,” Darth Ashlan turns suddenly and Quinn flushes a guilty crimson. Darth Ashlan blinks, mouth still open. He holds up a finger to ask a question and his mouth moves but doesn’t quite close. He blinks again, lowering the digit slowly. 

“My lord?” Quinn tries to head this off at the pass, trying equally hard to ignore the burning his cheeks. 

“Are you _blushing_?” 

“No, my lord,” Quinn lies automatically. 

Darth Ashlan blinks again. “Did you just . . . did you just _lie_ to me?” 

Quinn clears his throat. “Was there something more you required, My Lord?” 

“I . . . yes.” Darth Ashlan nods, still staring at Quinn. “But I can’t remember what the fuck it was.”

“Apologies, my lord,” Quinn says. “I will be here if you remember.” He is certain he is still blushing and the mortification that went along with that is making it _worse_. 

Darth Ashlan nods, looking distracted, and then shrugs his well-shaped shoulders and strolls out of the room. 

Quinn very nearly collapses back into his chair, heart pounding far too quickly. This distraction is . . . unseemly and unprofessional. Moreover it could jeopardize Darth Ashlan’s campaigns and, in turn, jeopardize the Empire’s already precarious position. 

He will not allow his erection to jeopardize the Empire. 

And he is _well aware that this is hyperbole._

For a moment he allows himself to feel a brief kinship with Vette, who surely endures this all the time. It only lasts for a moment before he remembers that he detests the twi’lek and focuses on all the reasons why. It is _easier_ to detest her. It is _familiar_ and it keeps him from wanting to commiserate. 

* * *

He waits until he is reasonably certain Vette and Jaesa are in bed, or at least otherwise occupied, before he heads to Darth Ashlan’s bedroom. He knocks on the door and is greeted by a casual “it’s open” before the door itself slides open. Darth Ashlan is sitting on his mattress, still bereft of a real shirt. His skin shines in the low light, still wet from the fresher. “You wanted to talk?” 

Quinn swallows against the dryness in his mouth. “Yes, my lord. I appreciate the audience.” 

“Are you _ever_ going to get less formal, Quinn?” 

“Certainly not, my lord. I pride myself on my professionalism.” 

Darth Ashlan sighs as though this is an expected disappointment. Quinn straightens further, unwilling to apologize on that front in any way. 

“So what did you need?” 

“My Lord, I simply wanted you to know that you have my unwavering loyalty and support,” Quinn answers. “Against _all_ of your opposition.” 

Darth Ashlan waits for him to continue and, when it becomes clear that Quinn’s not going to, looks rather puzzled. “Good . . . to know?” 

Quinn exhales. “What I mean is that despite your unorthodox manners, I have nothing but respect and admiration for you.” 

This does not help. Darth Ashlan just looks more confused. 

“I know about Jaesa, My lord,” Quinn explains.

The color drains from Ashlan’s face, leaving his brown skin more of a grey. His entire demeanor closes off and hardens, as though he is made of carved stone. His jovial green eyes are like an adegan crystal, glowing with untapped destructive potential. 

Quinn clears his throat, expecting to feel something tighten around it at any moment. In for a penny, in for a pound. “My lord, I have _always_ known.” 

The only movement Darth Ashlan makes is to blink. 

“I will defend your secret with my dying breath, my lord.” Quinn forces his shoulders back. “That is all I wanted to say.” 

Slowly, Darth Ashlan rises off the bed. He’s taller than Quinn gives him credit for, largely because the sith tends to slump and slouch when he’s comfortable. He doesn’t quite _tower_ but he comes close. Quinn swallows and folds his hands behind his back, standing straight and stiff, unwilling to waver in front of this storm. Darth Ashlan’s eyes narrow, a perfect emerald green, untouched by the red or black of dark side corruption. 

“I’m very protective of her, Quinn.” 

It feels almost like a threat, but not one Quinn minds. 

“I know, my lord. Which is why I never mentioned this before,” Quinn refuses to be cowed, though his eyes drop to Darth Ashlan’s mouth, rather than remained fixed by his stare. “In light of Lieutenant Pierce’s departure, I thought it prudent to inform you that you need never worry about that with me. I serve you.” 

“Thought you served _The Empire_ ,” Darth Ashlan says in a low voice. 

“Serving you _is_ serving The Empire,” Quinn’s chest puffs out as he says it. “You are the best The Empire has to offer and I consider it an honor to serve you. The path you have chosen to walk is the path I will follow, my lord.” 

Darth Ashlan studies him for a moment and then, slowly, he starts to smile, showing just a hint of razor sharp teeth. “Quinn?” 

“Yes, my lord?” 

“That’s gay.” The smile breaks out at the corners of Darth Ashlan’s eyes and robs his features of any menace. 

Quinn frowns, then remembers his dream, then flushes slightly. He clears his throat. “As you say, my lord.” 

Darth Ashlan stares at him, blinks, and then shrugs and shakes his head slightly.

Quinn, privately, is mortified with himself. Fortunately, the Sith seems to have other things on his mind. 

“Thanks . . . though,” Darth Ashlan pulls away. “It’s good to know that you’re on my side in this.” 

“This and all things.” He clears his throat. “I will leave you to your contemplations.” 

“Yeah. Okay.” Darth Ashlan nods distractedly. “See you in the morning, Quinn.” 

The door slides open and Quinn excuses himself, blushing furiously once he’s in the hallway. He hears a loud, bubbly slurp and looks up to see Vette and a cup of caf. He had thought she was _asleep_. 

How much had she heard?

_Shit_. 

“Shut up,” he says as she opens her mouth. 

She twitters a laugh. “Oh yeah, you have a _problem_.” 

He snorts and refuses to dignify her with a response. 

Vette laughs again. He hears her knock on Darth Ashlan’s door and moves faster to his quarters. 

* * *

There is a palpable change in the atmosphere aboard _The Fury_ after their conversation. Quinn first notices it when Jaesa brings him a cup of caf around lunch. Usually she moves about the ship in near silence, but this time she spares him a small smile and says, “Here. Vette says you take your caf with three scoops of sugar and cream, so I made it black.” 

Quinn huffs despite himself. “Thank you, Jaesa. And yes, I take my caf black.” 

“Thought so.” 

She leaves and he looks at the cup for a while. Initially he wonders if it’s been poisoned or if she’s spat in it. He takes a small sip and the caf is fine. Better than, actually. Jaesa makes excellent caf, he shouldn’t be surprised, she was a servant before she was a jedi. Quinn sets the drink aside and tries to remember when the last time someone just brought him a caf without being asked. 

More than a decade at least. 

Probably longer. 

He clears his throat and turns his attention back to the helm, soon enough they’ll reach Dromund Kaas and he will have a break and some time to process everything that’s happened.

* * *

On Dromund Kaas he resides within Darth Ashlan’s stronghold, away from the others. Vette and Jaesa have their rooms on the second floor, as does his Lordship, and Quinn largely avoids that level unless summoned. His quarters are modest but comfortable enough. After a lifetime of military barracks, the ability to move and optimize his furniture has been a luxury he will regret losing if it happens. 

He’s still not used to having downtime. Darth Baras always had some schemes in the works that required Quinn’s attentions, and being one of the most experienced officers on Balmorra—even if stuck as a lieutenant—had kept him busy. 

He reads. He reads everything. He listens to music while scrolling through a manual for _The Fury’s_ hyperdrive, looking to improve their maneuverability without compromising the style and comfort Darth Ashlan seems to love. 

Perhaps he will commission new seats.

There’s a knock at his door and he rolls off his mattress and picks up his jacket, pulling it on and snapping it closed before he opens the door. 

“Hey,” Darth Ashlan gives him a grin. He’s wearing loose fitting pants and robes and looks altogether too much like he’s heading to bed, but too awake for that to be the case. “You busy?”

“Reading, my lord, but nothing urgent.” He is painfully aware of the state of his hair, and he wishes he’d had a moment to brush it. 

“Cool. K’lorslug: The Clobbering plays best with an even number. Wanna come?” 

Quinn blinks. He runs over all the words in the sentence separately and gives Darth Ashlan a confused look. “My lord, I don’t… the board game?” 

“Yeah. Do you know how to play?” 

“I… can’t say that I do, my lord.” 

“Best time to learn. Come on.” 

“May I… a moment, my lord?” 

“Sure.” 

Quinn snatches up the comb on his desk and forces his hair back into line. Satisfied, and ignoring way Darth Ashlan chuckles, Quinn steps out of his room and the door closes behind him. 

He follows, somewhat at a loss, as Darth Ashlan leads him up the stairs to the second floor lounge where Jaesa and Vette are setting up a board. Darth Ashlan hands Quinn the pad with the rules on it and chats with the girls as Quinn reads. 

It looks simple enough, a strategy game where the players are trying to move their apprentices into positions of power and claim valuable resources from the various tombs around Korriban Academy. 

It feels vaguely heretical, but not in a way Quinn cares about. 

He settles at the table and Darth Ashlan brings out drinks and snacks. Quinn feels out of place until his first turn, when he notices that Vette has begun in a weakened position, and he seizes the opportunity. 

He learns three very important things as he proceeds to decimate her forces and then the forces of Darth Ashlan and Jaesa as they team up to try and stop him. 

Firstly, that he is good at strategy games, which is not a surprise but is nice to know. 

Secondly, that Darth Ashlan snorts when he laughs too hard and his brown cheeks flush and the effect is _striking_. 

And thirdly, that spending time with them—Darth Ashlan, Jaesa, even Vette—is fun. He doesn’t think he’s played a _game_ since before he left for bootcamp. He doesn’t remember the names or faces of any friends. 

He looks across the devastation he has wrecked on the board to where Darth Ashlan is sipping his drink and glowing with delight, and offers up a small, sincere smile in admiration and thanks before he completely annihilates what’s left of Darth Ashlan’s position on the board. 

As the victor, it is declared that Quinn gets to clean up while the others nurse their drinks and bruised egos. Quinn packs the pieces away and tucks the box in its place beneath the table. He stands, rail straight, and inclines his head politely. “Thank you, my lord.” 

“I told you,” Vette huffs. “It will take an electromagnet to even shift the durasteel rod Quinn’s got shoved up his ass.” 

Quinn frowns. 

Darth Ashlan shakes his head. “Give him a break, Vette. He came, he played, he . . . honestly he fucking conquered and I’m still a little shaken.” 

“Apologies, my lord.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Darth Ashlan says, showing just a hint of tooth. A shiver runs down Quinn’s spine. 

_Don’t tell me what to do_. 

Quinn clears his throat. “If that was all, my lord, I’ll return to my quarters.” 

“Sure, Quinn. Whatever you want. And thanks for playing, that was _quite_ enjoyable.” Ashlan laughs. “Seriously. You said you’d never played and I am _betrayed_.” 

“Apologies.” Quinn rolls his eyes, faintly aware of the smile vying to settle on his mouth. He excuses himself back down the stairs to his room, listening to the laughter grow fainter the further he walks. He waits for the door to close behind him before he unsnaps his jacket and hangs it up. He cards a hand through his hair, sending the black locks into disarray, and leans against the wall. 

He’d had fun. 

Quinn tries to square with that. 

He’d had _fun_. The joy in his chest isn’t from job satisfaction or from being praised for his service and work ethic. He had, in fact, wasted an entire evening on a game. But it had been _fun_. He’s not entirely sure what to do with that knowledge. Or the warmth in his chest. 

He undresses and slides into his bed, pulling up the datapad he’d been reading when Ashlan--Darth Ashlan--had summoned him. 

He will finish reading in the morning. 

The lights dim and die, and Quinn drifts off to sleep. 

* * *

Game nights become a regular occurrence when they’re on Dromund Kaas. Quinn gets the impression that they had always been a scheduled activity, it’s just that he’s _invited_ now. Which is nice. For a few hours, once a week when they aren’t actively on campaign, Quinn finds common ground with Jaesa and even Vette. And, more importantly, Darth Ashlan seems most content in these moments. Quinn wins often, and he’s _permitted_ to win, to take pleasure in the accomplishment. 

He and Vette are a devastating team when playing cooperatively, as good at working together as they are at tearing one another apart. He and Jaesa have more difficulty, and he and Darth Ashlan are… abysmal. Jaesa is not above using her force talents to tell when someone is lying.

Darth Ashlan doesn’t win often, but he always loses with grace and humor. He laughs a lot, smiling brightly and nuzzling Vette with his cheek like an overgrown loth-cat until she, laughing, pushes him away and rolls her eyes at his dopey smile. 

Quinn finds himself looking _forward_ to game night. He finds himself looking up new games, seeking little ways to brighten Darth Ashlan’s countenance. 

Unfortunately, time spent in such proximity has only increased Quinn’s distraction. He dreams of Darth Ashlan frequently enough that within two months he no longer tries to force his thoughts away, having accepted the practice as futile.

He washes his hand clean beneath the spray and turns the temperature up so the red tinting his skin can be blamed on the heat if anyone notices. 

He exits the refresher with his clothes over his arm and a towel around his waist and stops when he sees Darth Ashlan waiting for him. 

An uncomfortable blush creeps down from Quinn’s cheeks to blossom on his chest. He clears his throat and stands a little straighter. “My lord?”

Darth Ashlan’s eyes roam before they move lazily back up to Quinn’s. “Sorry, distracted myself. Just came down to make sure you were alright.” 

Quinn blinks. “Fine, my lord.” 

“No, you’ve been acting weird for a while.” Ashlan tilts his head. “I’m starting to worry.” 

“There’s no need to worry, my lord.” 

“Don’t tell me whether or not I can worry, Quinn,” Ashlan says, a little more sharply than Quinn had been expecting. It sends a shiver and a jolt down Quinn’s spine. 

“Apologies. However, if we could discuss this once I have trousers on, I would be grateful.” 

“You don’t… _need_ … pants,” Ashlan mutters, most likely to himself. He clears his throat and his tone deepens to his usual sith-voice. “Yes, of course. Join me in the atrium presently.” 

Quinn bows his head in deference and pretends that he _hadn’t_ heard Ashlan’s comment about how he doesn’t need pants. 

He needs pants _immediately_. And probably his jacket, as it does a good job of obscuring any unfortunate signs of his own ache. 

He dresses quickly, brushing his hair down flat and buttoning his jacket as he leaves his room. He inhales, composing himself, and then moves to the atrium at a brisk but even pace. Darth Ashlan is silhouetted against the window, the rain tapping against the glass and Kaas city glittering below. The air in the atrium is fresh and sweet, plants from many different worlds blooming and freshening the air around them. 

Quinn gets within five feet of Darth Ashlan and folds himself to parade rest. “My Lord?” 

“Did you seriously put the jacket on?” Darth Ashlan gives him a skeptical look and then sighs, leaning back against the window. “ _Stars_ , Quinn. It’s _fine_.” 

Quinn waits for some elaboration. 

“With the exception of _maybe_ Jaesa, everyone on this team sometimes wants to suck some dick. It’s fine. It’s not the end of the world.” 

Quinn doesn’t bother hiding his surprise. His mouth drops open and his brow furrows and he raises a hand to question and then drops it again. “At least I can always trust you to get to the heart of matters, my lord.” 

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Darth Ashlan urges. “Being attracted to men is perfectly—”

“I’m well aware of that,” Quinn says, cutting the sith off without thinking. “That’s not the issue.” 

“Well then what _is_ the issue?” 

“There are a number, my lord,” Quinn explains, still not entirely sure what to do with this situation. “Not the least of which being that you are my commanding officer and superior in every way. You’re also… you’re much younger than I am, my lord.” 

“And?” 

“I believe those are reasons enough.” 

“Well, you’re wrong.” 

“About what, my lord?” 

Darth Ashlan rolls his vibrant green eyes. “Stop calling me ‘my lord’ while we’re talking about blow jobs, Quinn. It’s weird.” Darth Ashlan leans against the window and crosses his arms. “We’re not just a _team_ , Malavai.” The use of Quinn’s given name feels like a blast of cold water to the face. “We’re friends. Family, even. I’m _Sith_ , I feed my passions. You should do the same, _Imperial_.” He tilts his head to the side, his scarlet hair pressing to the glass and leaving a ring of mist when his body heat meets the cold. “And the age difference thing really doesn’t apply when one party could choke the other from a distance, so, like, don’t worry about that.” 

“Vivid, my lo—er—Ashlan.” 

“Better.” ~~Darth~~ Ashlan’s smile is outlined by Kaas City’s lights below them.

“If I may, why the interest?” Quinn asks.

“In what? You or the specifics?” 

“Both, my… both.” Quinn clears his throat and shifts his posture.

“Specifically? I like you. Shit, I’ve _always_ liked you. You’re honorable and brilliant and sometimes you’re even funny. You’re staggering loyal, which is always a plus even if it did involve you trying to murder my whole face that one time.” 

Quinn fights not to drop his eyes to the floor with shame while simultaneously fighting against looking flattered. 

“You’re _hot as hell_. I don’t usually go for older guys but you’ve got the brightest eyes I’ve ever seen. You’ve got _great_ arm and shoulder muscles and you fill out your uniform like nothing—”

Quinn clears his throat. “Not… not _exactly_ what I meant.” 

Ashlan laughs. “ _Oh_ , shit. You’re just… part of my little family. I didn’t want you suppressing your desires, because that’s unhealthy.” He shrugs one shoulder. “You think _you’re_ the only one frustrated? I’m _Sith_ and haven’t been laid in…” he pauses. “Years. Literal, actual years.” 

Quinn frowns. He hadn’t anticipated this. “Surely Vette--” 

Ashlan shakes his head and scowls. “I can’t just—that would be— _no_.” He shakes his head again. “I adore Vette, she’s my _friend_. I wouldn’t just _use_ her like that! She deserves better.” 

“And Jaesa’s a jedi. I quite understand, my… I understand.” Quinn licks his lips and considers the risk. But, Ashlan has stated his attraction already and Quinn’s no stranger to being used, nor is he opposed to it. “If I may,” he says, running a hand through his hair because he’s nervous and it’s dark enough that he can hope Ashlan won’t notice. “Perhaps I could be of some assistance.” 

For the first time in the years they have known each other, Ashlan looks truly surprised. It’s hard to see his face in the gloom, but his shoulders drop and fall back and his head cocks questioningly to the side. 

Quinn moves in for the kill, taking the upper hand on instinct. He steps in, two paces closer. “I would be more than willing to assist, my lord.” The title is a conscious choice. It drips out from between Quinn’s teeth, almost a purr. “If you desire it.” 

Ashlan’s breath catches, and Quinn chooses to see it as a victory. He reaches forward to grab but not undo Ashlan’s belt. 

“Oh yes,” Ashlan breathes. “Fuck yes.” 

Quinn’s lips move into a small smirk before he licks them. Ashlan is wearing loose fitting robes and Quinn parts them easily, stepping in the rest of the way. He doesn’t quite lean in to kiss Ashlan—that would be a step too far—but he doesn’t move away when Ashlan kisses _him_ , both arms coming up to grab Quinn’s biceps. Ashlan’s lips are soft and pliant, but it’s Quinn’s mouth that yields, opening for a flick of the sith’s tongue. Sharp teeth scrape over Quinn’s lower lip and the brief spark of pain is exquisite. It is not a _long_ kiss, but it is a deep one and Quinn feels his uniform slacks tighten. 

He ignores that in favor of the twitch near where his hands are parting Ashlan’s layered robes. He hooks his long fingers into the hem of the sith’s boxers and tugs them down as he drops to his knees. 

He curls one hand around Ashlan’s erection and smiles to himself when Ashlan’s breath quickens. 

“Are you _sure_?” Ashlan asks, his tone tight and strained. 

“Quite sure,” Quinn says, beginning to stroke. There is something immensely satisfying about feeling his lord stiffen in his hand, the minute thrusts Ashlan makes against his palm. Quinn licks his lips and then runs his tongue over Ashlan’s tip. 

Ashlan’s fingers curl in his hair, enthusiastically encouraging him. 

Quinn sucks experimentally on Ashlan’s tip and listens to the high, pleased, gasps that follow. He tastes salty precum on his tongue and savors it more than he’d thought he would. He puts one hand on Ashlan’s hip, holding him steady and keeping the robes out of the way. The other hand Quinn uses to supplement his inexperienced mouth, stroking Ashlan’s shaft and then fondling his balls with greatest care. 

His own erection grows, straining against the fabric of his trousers. 

_“Oh **Force**_ ,” Ashlan groans as Quinn takes more of his cock in his mouth. The hands in his hair tighten to needy fists. 

His own erection is _supremely_ ignorable. 

Quinn traces the veins with his tongue and when Ashlan bucks he opens his mouth wider to accept the thrust. 

“Sorry,” Ashlan mutters, breathless. 

“Don’t apologize,” Quinn insists, withdrawing but continuing to stroke. 

“Don’t . . .” Ashlan gasps. “Don’t tell me what to do, Malavai.” 

Quinn slides back over Ashlan’s cock with something close to defiance of the command. Exhaling through his nose, he takes Ashlan to the hilt and then slides back. He feels the muscles in the sith’s thighs start to quiver, and his suspicions are confirmed when Ashlan groans, “I’m too close. I’m gonna-- _stars_!” 

Quinn swallows, continuing to work with his tongue until Ashlan is quite finished. He withdraws, a small smirk on his mouth as he wipes the corner with one hand. “Until next time, my lord,” he says with a smile and a small bow. 

Ashlan, still panting and breathless, nods vaguely and Quinn chooses to interpret that as a praise-filled dismissal. He turns smartly on his heel and walks out of room. He’s halfway into his quarters when he hears a confused, “ _Wait, where are you going?”_ follow him down the hallway. 

Quinn enjoys winning, and this? This feels like winning. 

The door slides closed. Quinn undresses and flops onto his mattress, cock in his hand, and reflects upon a job well done. 


End file.
